My brother Sam wanted help with shelves. He moved recently and...

My brother Sam wanted help with shelves. He moved recently and boxes of books were the last thing left unpacked. A blank wall, some metal brackets, some #12 two-inch screws, a borrowed drill. I didn’t want to help. I wanted to relax on this Saturday afternoon in Brooklyn, drink at some small dim bar, laugh and rest. But a young brother in need, and what else can you do. I know the unease brought about by living amidst packed boxes, a lingering feeling of undoneness and transition and just wanting a place to be home.

To test to make sure we were hitting wood behind the drywall, I smelled the metal tip of the bit. And the unmistakable smell of pine, that bright crisp Christmassy whiff, burnt sugary, alive. Smelling it, proof that we were in the right place, improved my mood in an instant.

Before putting up the last of the brackets, I got started making ricotta cheese for the pizzas we’d be making for dinner that evening. I glugged a half-gallon of milk into a pot, juiced a lemon into a bowl, and turned on the burner. The milk warmed while we put in the last few screws. A neat combination – the sharp and shiny metal screws, the dentist chair sound of the drill, the hard wall, and in the kitchen, the soft silent stirring of smooth warming milk. I added some salt and put my head over the pot, steam just beginning to rise. Warm milk is one of my favorite smells. The heat makes the milk smell sweet and gentle, a lactic grassiness, so comforting. Finished with the work, we had beers to look forward to. We left the whey to strain while we drank and laughed and returned to a dishtowel weighted with cheese. Such similar words, wood and food.